


A Patient Man

by Severina



Category: Dark Harbor (1998)
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-08 00:05:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3188312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You have got to take this seriously," David insists. "If you can't identify all of the species, how will you be able to protect yourself?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Patient Man

**Author's Note:**

> Pre and Post movie. Written for LJ's smallfandomfest for the prompt "mushrooms".
> 
> * * *

"This one?"

"Agaricus bisporus."

"And this?"

"Psilocybe cubensis." The boy smiles wickedly. "Magic mushrooms."

"This one."

James pushes the index card away, tries to snag David's hand instead and tug him toward the bed. "Let's go back to the 'shrooms. We could have some fun with those, David."

He frowns when David pulls away, flops down on his back on the ratty bedspread when David runs his hand through his hair. "You have got to take this seriously," David insists. "If you can't identify all of the species, how will you be able to protect yourself? And how, may I ask, will you be able to—"

"Murder your wife?"

The silence stretches out until all James can hear is the scritch of the mice in the walls. He plucks at a loose thread on the blanket; turns his head when he hears David slump down onto the chair next to the bed. 

"Second thoughts?" David asks softly.

"Second, third, fifth," the boy replies. He rolls over onto his side, stretches out until he can reach David's knee. He smoothes a nail down the ever-present crease in David's wool trousers, then cups his palm around his kneecap and squeezes gently until David lifts his head. 

"We could find another way."

James sighs. "There is no other way. Not one that will let you keep your fortune. Yours, David." He squeezes David's knee again before pulling himself up to a sitting position and crosses his legs. "And not one that she deserves after the way she's treated you."

He watches David's eyes narrow at the remembered slights, and knows it was the right thing to say. 

"Come on," he says. He gestures with one hand toward the cards abandoned on the nightstand. "You're right. I need to know these backwards and forwards, if we're going to do what needs to be done. Hit me."

David nods, takes up the illustrated cards and shuffles through them. He holds up a brightly coloured photograph taped neatly to a card, lifts a brow. "This one?"

"Aminata muscaria," James says instantly. "Safe to ingest."

"And this one?"

"Amanita jacksonii," the boy answers. "Same."

David flips the card onto the table, holds up another. "This one?"

"Galerina marginato," James identifies. His lip curls. "Poisonous."

* * *

_Two years later…_

"State your name for the record, please."

The young man leans forward and folds his hands on the table, shifts to be closer to the microphone. "James Miller," he says.

"And what exactly was your relationship to the deceased?"

Another shift, so close that his lips are practically caressing the head of the mic. "He was despondent, you know? That big place, all alone. We met up and became friends and—"

"You don't have to speak so close to the mic, Mr. Miller."

The boy blinks, stutters back into his seat and smiles sheepishly. "Sorry."

The detective returns his smile with a professional one of her own, leans back in her own chair. "You were saying… your relationship to David Weinberg," she prompts.

"Right." James nods, licks his lips and glances down at the microphone on the table between them. "I was his… caretaker?"

"You don't sound very sure."

James lifts a shoulder. "Well, that was my technical job description, I guess. He had a big house on the island, lots of land. I think it overwhelmed him, so I took care of things. Mowed the lawn, cleaned up, cooked dinner sometimes. But we were friends, too. I think mostly I was just there to keep him company." The boy looks away from the mic, meets her eyes. "Like I said, he was lonely."

"Since the death of his wife."

"Alexis," James answers. "I never met her, but it sure hit him hard. He talked about her all the time."

The detective crosses her legs as she glances down at her notes, and James wonders if they're supposed to distract him. They're nice legs, but he still has no interest in having them wrapped around his waist. He looks up in time to see her watching him shrewdly, and sniffs as he straightens a little in his seat. Concentration is key.

"Did Mr. Weinberg mention how his wife died?" the detective asks.

"Suicide," James answers immediately. "She killed herself."

The detective looks down at her file again, as though she doesn't have the thing memorized. James waits; tries not to look bored. He has all the time in the world. He has always been a patient man. "Yes, she killed herself," the detective finally says, after flipping through a few of the pages in her hand. She looks up to meet his eyes. "In the same manner in which Mr. Weinberg died."

James blinks. "No," he rasps out. "I mean… I guess the means was the same? But David didn't kill himself. No way."

"You yourself said he was despondent over the death of his wife, that he was lonely—"

"Sure," the boy answers quickly, "who wouldn't be? She was everything to him! But he didn't kill himself!"

"You seem very sure."

James leans forward, props his elbows on the table and meets her eyes. "Look, we were close, okay? If he'd been thinking about killing himself, I'd have known about it. He was sad, but he wasn't suicidal."

"Yet the method of death is the same."

"He used to go out into that back field all the time, where the wild mushrooms grow. He said it made him feel closer to Alexis," the boy says. He slumps back in his chair, rubs a shaking hand over his eyes. "He couldn't tell them apart, not as well as she could. If he ate one that was poisonous, it was accidental. He didn't know."

"Mr. Miller—"

"Sorry." James manages a watery smile, scrubs again at his eyes. "He was my friend. He was a good friend to me."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," he says. "Thanks a lot."

* * *

There are more questions, but the boy knows that the interview effectively ended with his crocodile tears. The investigation will take a few more weeks, but in the end he knows that David's death will be ruled accidental.

Then he can file the insurance claim.


End file.
